Following the Cat
by MapleleafCameo
Summary: AU Sherlock and John both have secrets from one another. Big secrets, like liking to eat mice and turning people into toads secrets. A continuation of The Follower and Warts and All. Please read both first. Rated T. Not Slash. Chapter 8. Join the Dark Side. We Have Marmite.
1. Chapter 1

Following the Cat

**A/N: This story takes place just seconds after **_**The Follower**_** and a month or so before **_**Warts and All. **_**You really should read both, as they are background for this story. If you did read either & followed, favourited, or reviewed I'd like to say thank you very much! I was very happy with the response!**

**All Cat Laws come from the internet – . **

**I don't own – never have, never will & remember you don't own a cat, a cat merely puts up with your presence.**

1. Let Sleeping Cats Lie or at Least Fib a Bit

_Law of Cat Inertia: A cat at rest will tend to remain at rest, unless acted upon by some outside force, such as the opening of cat food, or a nearby scurrying mouse._

The sound of a spoon hitting the floor came from the kitchen.

Sherlock just sat and read his newspaper.

And smirked.

John poked his head out of the kitchen, his face pale.

"What did you say?" he asked in an almost but not quite squeaky voice. He walked into the living room with a few shaky steps.

Sherlock glanced up over the paper. "I said make sure you add sugar. You neglect to add enough sugar. I prefer 2 spoonfuls and you invariable reduce it to half in the mistaken belief that I consume too much sugar. You really are not consistent John. One time nagging me to consume more calories the next worrying I'm consuming too many. It would benefit all concerned if you would make up your mind."

John stared at Sherlock. Hard. And narrowed his eyes.

Sherlock sighed and looked at the doctor pointedly. "Are you feeling alright this morning John? You are acting decidedly odd."

John blinked, shook his head, stammered something unintelligible and abruptly turned and walked back into the kitchen where he bent down and picked up the spoon, shaking his head slowly.

"Erm, Sherlock?"

"2 spoonfuls, please, John."

"Where were you last night?"

"Out."

"Well, yes I gathered that."

"If you must know my brother came round with his outrageously sinister looking car, not subtle in any way, and requested my presence to help him investigate a spy ring he believes has infiltrated the British Government. Not as in 'Mycroft the British Government', but the one everyone actually thinks runs the country. I turned him down." There was a snap and rustle of pages turning.

"Oh. Okay. I was, I was just wondering."

John brought tea over to Sherlock, his hand shaking slightly. Sherlock relieved the doctor of his cup before he spilled it all over the detective. John smiled a wan apology. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow and returned to his paper.

"I'm, um, just going to get showered and dressed."

"Fine." Sherlock barely looked up from the newspaper.

The moment John was out of earshot, Sherlock's mobile rang. He pulled it out of his jacket pocket, looked at the screen and rolled his eyes.

"What is it now, Mycroft?" he said with a slight hiss.

"_You are taking too many risks, Sherlock. You know you left it late once again. You don't want your new flatmate finding out _all_ of your secrets, hmmm? At least not right away. You need to be more careful."_

"Yes, thank you Mycroft for pointing out the obvious. There is no cause for concern. Leave me alone!" And he hung up.

He hated to admit it to himself, let alone Mycroft. _No, I will never admit it to Mycroft._ He had left it too long and caught out on the street, partway back to the flat he'd felt it coming on. He really needed to change more often and regularly otherwise he lost control. That would be decidedly inconvenient if he happened to be in the middle of a crowd.

Like many things in Sherlock's life it was another thing he neglected and he was not likely to change his habits toward this either.

He sat, looking for all the world like he was staring into space, but he was thinking at a rapid pace, trying to sort through all possible permeations and outcomes of telling John that he needed to spend part of the time as a cat. From the one sided conversation John had had with him last night while the detective had been in cat form the indication was the man liked cats. Most people who liked cats would be more than a little shocked to discover that their cat was actually human. Maybe not totally surprised, as many people tended to anthropomorphize their pets. John Watson seemed far too practical for that. And a little unnerved at the slightest possibility, at least judging by his reaction in the light of day. Of course John could simply be questioning last night's misadventure and believing that he had dreamt it.

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders, not coming to any conclusion at the moment. He required more data. He stood and stretched. After returning to human form it took some time for all of his bones and muscles to settle back into place, something that would require less time if he changed more frequently. The cat's instincts were close to the surface after a change as well. He rubbed both hands through his hair and stepped over the coffee table and slumped onto the couch in time for John to come back down stairs, dressed and looking like he was not going to bring up any of last nights dealings or this morning's questions. Sherlock watched John through half closed eyes wondering how to go about testing John to see if he would be adverse to having a flatmate who was also a member of the feline family. It wasn't really an area he had to contemplate before, having avoided discussing this with anyone who was not a Holmes or their various cousins. He was also rather surprised at his wanting to tell him. What was it about John H. Watson that he implicitly trusted, without question, from the moment he first saw him to the moment the ex-soldier killed a man to save his life?

Sherlock decided to wait and collect more information.

John returned from the kitchen and carefully placed on the coffee table a plate with a slice of buttered toast for Sherlock and then sat at the table with his own slice. As John sat munching Sherlock noticed that the doctor continually shot him furtive looks and looked like he wanted to say something. Sherlock waited.

Just as John appeared to be gathering the courage to ask Sherlock the detective's mobile chimed with a text. Sherlock whipped it out of his jacket and a feral grin crossed his face.

"Lestrade. There's been a murder,"

John muttered under his breath, "Of course there bloody has." He quickly swallowed the toast and drank his tea. He carried the plates into the kitchen, noting with a sigh that Sherlock had neglected to eat anything and probably would not if they took this case. He left the plates on the counter and brushed the crumbs from his hands and headed into the living room, grabbed his jacket and ran after Sherlock who was already down the stairs and on the street hailing a cab.

They arrived at the scene, morning traffic having slowed them down considerably. John pretended to be watching the scenery out of the window, but he was really looking at Sherlock in the reflection of the window a fact Sherlock was aware of. Sherlock allowed a small smile to grace his lips, amusement momentarily blurring the excitement of a new murder. John was really struggling with what had happened, what he thought had happened and what he wanted to believe had happened.

_Today will not be boring_, thought Sherlock, _no matter the outcome of viewing today's murder scene._

oOo

Later

"Dull," announced Sherlock.

"But Sher…," began Lestrade.

"DULL, dull, dull dull! It is clearly a mugging. No finesse no forethought. Wrong place, wrong time. Come John let's go home. Texted me Lestrade when you have something of interest. Otherwise don't bother. I cannot believe I wasted my time coming down here…" he stopped. A sudden movement caught his eye, eyes not just trained to observe, but eyes that only hours before had been developed to track down prey of a different sort. Sherlock's ears actually twitched, also trained to pick up subtle scurrying sounds that normal human ears would not be able to hear. And there it was, a mouse, scurrying along the base of the wall. One part of Sherlock's brain, the cool, analytical, logical part was wondering what a mouse was doing out at this time of day, normally shy creatures, not as bold as rats, they waited until nightfall.

Another instinctual part of his brain said, _Pounce!_

Before he was even aware what he was doing he jumped from where he was standing and he landed on top of the confused rodent.

He actually had the mouse in his hands when a horrified "Ewwww" coming from the direction of Donovan brought him back to his surrounds.

"Good lord, Freak are you actually catching mice now," sneered Anderson. "Are you that desperate." A snicker escaped from his mouth. John hushed him with a stern look and then turned his attention back to his flatmate.

The doctor's eyes narrowed once again and even someone as obtuse as Anderson would have been able to track his thoughts, that is if Anderson had been aware of what had transpired last night.

Sherlock smiled an insincere smile and hastily dropped the mouse. He wiped his hands on his coat and strode down the alleyway, not saying a word to anyone.

John hurried once again to catch up. He didn't say a word the entire cab ride. Sherlock sat fiddling with his scarf, waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop

He had to wait until they were safely ensconced in the privacy of Baker Street. After divesting himself of his coat and scarf he threw himself back onto the couch, part of him secretly hoping John would not broach the unfortunate mouse incident, part of him secretly wishing he would in order to get this out in the open. He was about to be granted one of his desires.

"Sherlock…" John began, looking like he was storming a castle, not like he was asking a relatively simple question that would elicit a fairly complicate answer.

"It's unimportant." His mouth deciding the direction this conversation would take.

"That was not _nothing, _Sherlock. That, that was definitely a whole lot of something."

Sherlock chose the quirked eyebrow to convey the next part of his statement.

"Oh don't you let your eyebrow do the talking here. You _and_ your eyebrow know perfectly well what I am talking about," John was using his best 'take no prisoners' tone.

Pause

"The mouse, Sherlock!" John growled.

"Ah, it is nothing John. I was simply curious."

"Curious? You. Were. Curious? You didn't look curious. You looked hungry! And your ears twitched."

It was difficult to ignore the cat instincts so close to a change, but he managed to school his expression.

"Don't be ridiculous John. Although a mouse would be fairly edible, it would also be carrying disease. I would have to be fairly desperate to wish to eat a mouse." And then he said almost as an after thought and fairly quietly "A bird on the other hand…"

"What?!"

"Hmmm. Nothing…just…musing."

John continued to look at him sharply and Sherlock looked at him with his most perfected innocent smile. John said nothing but nodded to himself as if he were putting pieces together.

Sherlock may have thought John was an idiot at times, but he was also aware that he was a rather intelligent idiot.

He was going to have to tell him.

He just wasn't sure how.


	2. 2 The Hex You Say

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed & favoured. I'm keeping track, I promise!**

**This one might be less funny than the others are (hopefully) going to be – I'm setting up some tension & beginning of background information – that's the plan anyway, she says with a shrug.**

2. The Hex You Say

"_The cat's really among the pixies now." Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_

Several Days Later

It started out simply enough.

A case that involved a stolen piece of jewelry and a nice murder.

An easily caught criminal who managed, somehow, to escape.

A chase through the streets of London.

A gun pulled out at the last minute and a shot fired. A body slumped forward that landed heavily to the ground.

A cry from someone coming up behind, a fraction of a second too late.

A criminal suddenly slipped on nothing and landed on his back, hitting his head rather hard against the pavement. He was knocked out.

John rushed up to where Sherlock lay on the ground, fear radiating from every pour. He hadn't even thought when he flung the hex. Pure instinct. He hadn't done anything that uncontrolled since adolescences.

He ignored the second slumped figure and concentrated on the first. He quickly assessed the unconscious form and gently rolled him over.

_Oh thank god!_

The bullet had grazed the temple and rendered Sherlock unconscious. The cut was bleeding heavily, but there didn't appear to be any other damaged and even as he took the detective's pulse he could see Sherlock was coming around. He heard footsteps coming up behind.

"Oh Christ, what the hell happened?" asked Lestrade. "Is he alright?"

"Yes," said John shortly, "he will be."

"What happened to Jenkins?" he chin pointed in the direction of the other unconscious figure.

"He slipped," was the only answer forth coming. At that moment Sherlock's eyes fluttered open so he didn't see Lestrade mouth the words 'he slipped'. He didn't pay any attention as Lestrade wandered over to where Jenkins lay on the ground.

John held him down in place preventing him from immediately sitting up. "You are not moving. Don't even try. And you are going to the hospital if I have to knock you out myself to get you there."

Sherlock's eyes tried to focus on John but he couldn't seem to get them to work as a team just yet. He slurred something to the effect of, "Dnt redic you cn stich yrslf."

"I'm sorry," John said, relief evident in his tone along side humour, "I don't speak imbecile."

Sherlock's eyes seemed to be cooperating more and his colour was improving. He tried again speaking slowly and enunciating. He must have been feeling better because there was definite sarcasm in his inflection.

"I said, 'Don't be ridiculous. You can stitch me up yourself.' Did you lose your hearing when Jenkins fired that gun?"

"No you daft git, but you could have lost your head. What were you thinking running after him like that?"

Sherlock struggled to sit up. John helped him. He was using a clean handkerchief to stem the blood flow.

"I was thinking I would catch him. Did you punch him John? No you didn't. No marks on your hands. What happened to him?'

Knowing Sherlock was fine because he automatically started deducting as well as being a dick, John looked Sherlock straight in the eye, "He slipped." He didn't blink. Not once.

Sherlock frowned, "On what? There appears to be no oil on the ground. It hasn't rained in a week so there's not water nor has it been cold enough for ice to form even if there were water. His shoes have rubber soles and don't tie. It is inconceivable that he simply slipped."

"I do not think it means what you think it means."

"What are you rambling on about now?"

"Inconceivable. Of course it's conceivable. I saw him do it."

"John. You are hiding something from me. Why? Why are you not telling me what happened?"

John looked thoughtful for a moment and then said the thing that had been gnawing at him for days now, the thing he had wanted to address but didn't quite know how to.

"I'll tell you what happened when you confess to being a cat."

oOo

An Hour Later

John finished cleaning up the gauze and other materials he'd required to stitch Sherlock up. He went into the bathroom to wash his hands.

The detective had been quiet during the ride home. Both men had spent the journey half glancing at the other in such a way that they kept missing making eye contact. John had refused to say anything further to Sherlock about what had happened and about the bold statement he had made. He decided that he could indeed fix Sherlock up at the flat. His reasoning hadn't been altruistic or for convenience sake. It had been in the hopes of getting a confession.

It didn't look like that was forth coming.

John finished washing his hands and dried them on a towel. He chucked the towel in with the rest of the laundry and walked back out to the living room. Sherlock, who had changed into pajamas, had curled up on the couch, his body all loose and long. He couldn't have looked more feline if he tried.

John sat in his chair and cleared his throat.

"Are we going to talk about this?" he asked quietly.

Sherlock said nothing.

"Sherlock?"

A hand unwrapped itself from the lump on the couch and waved lazily through the air.

"What John? That you are delusional? That you are lying to me? Is there anything else we should be talking about?"

John leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees and shook his head back and forth.

"No, Sherlock. I am not delusional. I know what I saw and I know what it means. I know a whole lot more than you think I do."

With that intriguing sentence, Sherlock lifted his head fractionally and stared at his blogger. "You know what more than I think you do?"

John just stared at him. Then he cleared his throat and said, "Are you sure you are feeling okay? That was not the most coherent sentence I've heard you utter." Sherlock said nothing. John sighed. He was becoming quite practiced at it since moving in with Sherlock.

"I will talk about it when you tell me the truth."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he huffed. He crossed his arms and threw himself around so his back was toward John. He shouted over his shoulder in John's general vicinity, "With holding information and using it to attempt to blackmail me will not entice me to tell you something outrageous John."

John just sighed. "Fine. You don't appear to have a concussion so I'm going to bed. When you are emotionally mature enough to have a civil conversation come and get me."

John left and walked up the stairs to his bedroom. He changed quickly and crawled under the covers. He turned his bedside light off and lay there, an arm over his eyes, thinking.

A few minutes later a quiet knock sounded against the door. A soft voice sounded on the other side, "John?"

John flipped the switch back on and called out, "Come on in Sherlock."

The door opened slowly and the tall detective was backlit by the light from the hallway, his shadow longer and thinner on the bedroom floor.

John sat up further and beckoned Sherlock to come in. Sherlock slunk in and curled up on the end of John's bed. His eyes were downcast. John was confused as to why the other man would be embarrassed.

Sherlock raised his eyes and for a second his eyes glowed like a cat's in the night, there was a definite slit to the pupils and then they shifted back to more human looking. John's breathing stopped and started momentarily.

"So it is true," he said almost under his breath.

Sherlock nodded, still seeming embarrassed.

"How and why are the first two questions I have."

Sherlock shrugged, "It's familial. It's more common than you think. And I'm not suppose to talk about it."

"Will you have to kill me now?"

Sherlock's sly grin made a return and he chuckled softly, "No John. But I will have to answer to The Family."

John could hear the capitals in the last two words. "The Family?" he asked.

"Yes. Unfortunately my own family is the head of The Family. That makes explaining to them even more tedious than it would normally be."

"I can't be the first human to have discovered this?'

Sherlock looked sharply at John. Was there a brief pause before he said 'human'.

"Alright John. You've heard my little secret. What's yours?"

John sat looking at Sherlock, deep in thought. Then for an answer he simply looked toward the open doorway and suddenly the door slammed shut. Sherlock's head whipped back and forth between the door and John, trying to see the trick.

"John. There's not suppose to be such a thing…"

"As people turning into cats?"

Sherlock looked thoughtful. "No potions, waving of arms? No chanting or silly spells?"

John shook his head. "Nope. It's science. I manipulate energy and in the case of organic material on the cellular level."

"Must make you an extraordinary doctor."

"It helps, but there's a limit of how much I can do and how long I can sustain it. The more energy I put out to manipulate things the more I spend. It doesn't take long to become exhausted. So I tend not to use it too much. Don't rely on it. It's much easier to do it without hocus pocus and it's more," he searched for the words, "morally correct, I guess."

Sherlock looked thoughtful. He was being handed a whole lot of intriguing information about his already fascinating flatmate.

"What about on yourself? Why didn't you simply repair the damage to your shoulder?"

John grimaced, "I can't. Can't work it on myself. Doesn't work."

Sherlock sat back, "And your shooting skills?"

"I'm a good shot. Doesn't take magic for that. Okay I've answered some of your questions, though lord knows you have a few thousand more and are already lining up experiments in that great brain of yours," John's asperity was tinged with fondness, "What about you?"

"What? You show me yours and I show you mine?"

John choked. "Sherlock, that is not what that means." He muttered something about bad enough people thought he was gay without his flatmate using colloquialisms incorrectly. He stopped muttering when his breath was sucked in. Instead of a skinny, spindly detective, the cat from the other night was lying on the end of his bed. Not unlike John's abilities it happened from one heartbeat to the next. The end of the cat's tail flicked in slight irritation, but the expression on his face was the same smugness from that night.

A blink and Sherlock was back. Because he was watching this time John could see a slight shimmer in the air. Sherlock came back with pajamas intact, something John was rather grateful for.

"So, so where do your clothes go and your, your mass for that matter."

Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly, "Elsewhere." He thought for a moment. "The best answer I can give is a pocket in subspace. It's complicated."

John nodded still thinking.

Sherlock cleared his throat. He looked, not exactly uncomfortable, but more as if he were uncertain. It was not a look one saw very often upon the detective's face, "john, we have more of a problem than my family finding out I told you about me being a cat."

John looked up from his musings, "What? Your brother going to want to try and use me in the name of the British Government? Because that's not…"

"No John," and Sherlock's eyes gleamed once more and his pupils dilated. _Hunting mode,_ thought John.

"He's not going to use you, but he may want to kill you."


	3. 3 Resistance is Futile

**A/N: Round 2 of spot the movie quote. I had a quote in the last chapter. Tell me both & which movie & I will send you virtual jam, because that's how I roll.**

3. Resistance is Futile

_Law of Obedience Resistance: A cat's resistance varies in proportion to a human's desire for him to do something._

"He's not going to use you, but he may want to kill you."

John just stared at Sherlock, his mouth open.

"What the hell is that suppose to mean?"

Sherlock's left shoulder lifted slightly in a shrug. He stared at John, his eyes flicked over the other man.

_He doesn't know. Interesting._

"John, how long have you known you are a wizard?"

John blinked at the sudden shift in topic.

"How…how long? Is that what I am?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Yes, John. And how long have you known."

"Ummm, well I guess I was about five or six I noticed I was different. Weird stuff use to happen all the time, but my parents were great believers in 'if we don't talk about it, it will go away', so they ignored it. Mum took me aside once, when Dad wasn't around and told me I had better learn to hide it. She looked rather scared now that I think about it, not angry. I was rather left to fend for myself. I didn't always know what was going on, so I kept it to myself. Um, didn't want people to know, I guess. Not like you can go up to your friends and say 'Hey look I can juggle without using my hands.' Most would run screaming, don't you think? Or ask me to do stuff I didn't want to," John appeared uncomfortable talking about his past, but that had never stopped Sherlock from trying to glean the answers he sought.

"No one else in your family, your sister, cousins?"

John shook his head, "Nope. Just me. Never saw a sign from anyone else and believe me, I looked. I thought I was alone in this."

Sherlock was more than mildly impressed with his flatmate. It must have taken extraordinary willpower to learn how to control powers handed to you and to not use them for dark deeds. If John hadn't been such an upright individual he would have very likely become the kind of person the detective had been raised to track down. He was also fortunate that his parents had wished to remain ignorant and had tried to hide their son's abilities by ignoring what he could do.

"So to the best of your knowledge you are the only one in your family to display powers such as yours?"

It was John's turn to roll his eyes, "Yes, Sherlock."

Sherlock nodded thoughtfully. It was up to him to inform John of the less than savory history of the Wizard Wars.

"John, there is a history of people such as yourself. Long ago they were intent on world domination, wanting to take over, control everyone. The cat families had been part of the wizard traditions until the wizards went power mad. We were familiars, worked with them, helped augment their powers, but we were suppose to be their conscious as well, keep them from being stupid. When that didn't work, we took over, put the wizards down, killed quite a few and it is one of our charges to track down the rest and either kill them or strip them of their powers. We don't want such a devastating war to happen again. They've tried to go down that road a few times since."

John's face paled throughout this conversation.

"When? When did this happen? The first time I mean."

"You've heard of the Dark Ages? That would be the main reason they were dark." He said with grim smile.

"Look I really didn't know any of this. There was never any hint of this in family discussions around the table. What the hell?"

"It is more than likely to be a recessive gene, most likely from your mother's side. Your family may not have had any idea that there were wizards in their ancestry. I'm sure while we were running around eliminating them they got better at hiding. It could be there were rumors in your family as well, family tales about Great Grandmother Ida and her uncanny ability to know when it would rain, but mainly scoffed at. Perhaps they had warnings of what would happen."

"How did you know I had a Great Grandmother named Ida?"

"Really John, that's what you are focused on? I say my brother may want you dead and your biggest concern is how I know the names of your family? It's called Google!"

"Right, sorry, it's just - overwhelming." John rubbed his eyes.

"Well nothing will happen tonight, even if Mycroft knows, which he most likely does. Bugged flat and all. So get some sleep, try not to worry. He most likely won't kill you until the morning."

John huffed, "Thanks Sherlock. Most comforting."

"John what part of 'I'm a cat' did you not understand? For all of our foibles, cats are dreadfully practical."

John laughed, part hysterical, part relief, "Since when have you been practical?"

Sherlock smiled his cat smile, "That's the spirit John. See you in the morning. Sleep well."

John collapsed back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He doubted he would sleep well, if at all.

oOo

Sherlock made his way back down stairs. Found his mobile and sent a text to his brother.

_Why did you not tell me? SH_

_What took you so long to figure it out? I could smell it on him the minute I met him. Are we becoming careless? MH_

_Myc__, what are you up to? You will NOT kill my flatmate. SH_

_Aren't we loyal so suddenly, so fast? Do not worry Sherlock. I have plans for the good Doctor. He is not in any immediate danger. MH_

_Why should I be I worried? SH_

_You only call me Myc when you are concerned Sherlock. Your doctor is going to be just fine. As long as he cooperates, that is. MH_

With that last text, Sherlock threw his phone across the room. Fortunately it hit the couch and not the wall. He disliked that his brother knew him so well. He disliked the implied threat against John. He disliked having feels about any of this.

Sherlock scrubbed at his hair. For the first time in a long time he had the urge to transform without being forced to. Most of his family couldn't understand why he was so reluctant to turn cat. He saw it as a loss of control. As a cat he wasn't nearly as intelligent. He was smart for a cat. All of them were, but his dizzying intellect was pushed aside for base instincts. He did not enjoy being ruled by base instincts. He was above it all. But he needed to divorce himself from the emotions, from the worry.

He shifted and he became the cat. He did appreciate not being distracted and bombarded by human emotions. He didn't like having all of those messy feelings and although he appreciated many aspects of John, this whole friendship thing often confused him. As a cat he could ignore those feelings. Cats did not generally have friends, at least not in the same way humans did. He certainly had fewer cat friends than human friends and as he had only one person he would call friend, he therefore had none in the cat world.

He curled up on the couch, back to the living room and relaxed into the personality of the cat. He was one with the cat. He started purring and washing himself. It was incredibly relaxing and all of the tension of the last few days disappeared. He would never have done this in front of anyone. It was a tad embarrassing licking one's self in awkward places. People were generally…

His internal musings were interrupted by the sound of a throat being cleared.

"You know that's more than a little disgusting, right?"

Sherlock blinked and looked over his back. John stood there, arms crossed, slight smirk on his face. Sherlock blinked again, his hind leg stretched up in the air. He growled at John.

"Hey don't look at me like that. I'm not the one showing off his flexibility and other bits for all to see."

Sherlock huffed, turned his back on John, closed his eyes pretending nothing had happened as he curled up on the couch, grumbling.

"Someone's attitude didn't change I see. Well I'm going to make tea. You want some?"

Sherlock ignored him. He could hear John make his way to the kitchen. He began thinking that tea would actually be rather nice.

He meowed throatily.

"Thought you might. I've already put in enough water for two."

After a time John came back from the kitchen with a mug of tea and a bowl. He didn't argue this time with putting sugar in. It had been a difficult day for both of them and he thought that Sherlock deserved it.

Sherlock watched John sip his tea as he waited for his own to cool. In cat form he didn't like it as hot as he did as a human.

After a few minutes he stretched and jumped off the couch to where John had placed the bowl. He began to lap delicately at the liquid.

"Burmese."

Sherlock looked up.

"The breed of cat. You're Burmese."

Sherlock tilted his head. John giggled.

"You are very expressive. Odd, I can tell what you're thinking just by looking at your face. Same as when you're human. How did I know the breed? What? Don't I look like someone who'd know that?"

Sherlock emitted a faint mruph.

John laughed again. "No I suppose not. I had a girlfriend in uni who was a bit too much into cats. Had posters all over her room."

He didn't go into the fact that the main reason he'd broken it off with her was that she'd start chanting cat breeds in the middle of making love. It had been a bit disconcerting and too much information to share with Sherlock.

"Is Mycroft one? Burmese I mean. I figured he must be a cat, too. Are you all the same breed?"

Sherlock flattened his ears. How could John be so insightful one minute and so mind numbingly obtuse the next? How was he supposed to answer that? Why did he not wait until he had the power of intelligent speech to ask him? And why the hell did he have any interest in Mycroft?

"Oh sorry. Hard not to talk to you and to hold back on questions. It can wait." He sipped some more tea and put the mug on the floor. He leaned back in his chair, pursed his lips, deep in thought. He closed his eyes, fatigue finally settled in and pushed anxiety out of the way. Sherlock watched all of this, thinking. It wouldn't do for John to fall asleep in the chair. He didn't deserve to wake up uncomfortable with a stiff shoulder two times in such a short while. He sauntered over to where his blogger was beginning to doze and merowed loudly and lightly scratched John's leg. John sat up with a start.

"Oh, ow! No need for that!" He yawned, "I guess I should go back to bed. Hmmm. Well goodnight Sherlock."

John disappeared back up the stairs.

Sherlock curled up in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. Now that he knew, he could smell the magic on John and he wondered how he could have missed it. Normally when he was tracking a wizard he could smell them a long way off. They smelled musty, unclean, almost like a sour dishrag, with an underlying hint of electricity.

John smelled like electricity, but it was clean and fresh, almost like sunshine and lemons. He didn't smell like a typical wizard. He smelled kind and brave. He smelled like John.

_Interesting_

oOo

The next morning, found Sherlock dressed and ready to resume the conversation of the night previous. John made his way down from his room, yawning. He took one look at the detective and shook his head, wondering how he could be so pulled together after getting shot and spending part of the night as a cat. He stopped to take a look at Sherlock's head wound.

"Hmph. I'll have to take the stitches out soon. That's almost healed. I'd say impossible but I've seen too many weird things lately to be surprised."

"Metabolism's faster, part of the whole physiology. I heal quickly."

"If you have such a fast metabolism, shouldn't you eat more? You know, keep up on all the calories you burn running over London."

"Eating's boring, John. I eat enough. However, if it will please you I will eat something this morning." And he smiled his quick 'I'm humouring you' smile.

"What would you like? Mouse flambé or perhaps a nice roasted Tweetie bird."

"Very droll, just toast," he said in a bored voice.

John brought breakfast in just as the sound of footsteps was heard upon the stairs, ones the two men had been expecting and dreading.

"Good Morning John, Sherlock. How nice to see you on this fine morning."

"Bugger off Mycroft. I know why you're here."

Sherlock had stood when he heard the footsteps and had moved to stand in front of John without even realizing it. He wouldn't let his brother harm one hair on John's head.

"Now Sherlock. I have no intensions of harming the good doctor. Quite the contrary. I am rather hoping we can come to some sort of agreement, John."

John said nothing, just stood and looked at Mycroft, warily. It wasn't that he didn't want to trust Mycroft; it was more that Mycroft always had a hidden agenda.

"John you don't have to listen to him."

"Sherlock, you are so distrustful. Hear me out. I know what an honest and good person John is. I am totally convinced he isn't interested in taking over the world," he paused, a cold, thin smile on his lip, "It's the rest of the family you'll have to worry about. I can convince them, but you will need to listen to my plan in order for that to happen."

John put a hand on Sherlock's arm and forced him to look at him. Sherlock saw nothing but steady calm acceptance in John's warm blue eyes. He nodded tightly at the doctor and moved to sit down, still keeping an eye on Mycroft.

"Sit down please John. There, isn't that more comfortable? Now I am given to understand that Sherlock gave you a somewhat abbreviated history of your people and ours. I am well aware that you have had no knowledge or exposure to others such as yourself. You could hardly have turned out the way you did with the kind of upbringing wizards force their children through. I have actually been keeping an eye on you for quite sometime. Your particular case was brought to my attention when one of our people spotted you in Afghanistan. He took note of you then, but after you saved his life out in the midst of battle he informed me that if we were to take action against you, he'd personally see that my head was removed from my shoulders. His actual words were not so polite. You do insight fierce loyalty, John."

John could not have looked more surprised if he tried, but he schooled his features and calmly asked," Who was the man?"

"A Private Macpherson*. He was shot in the leg. You were able to save both his life and the leg. He is extremely grateful. Anyway it gave me pause for thought and an idea began to form. I had plans to have you brought back to England for a chat, but then you were unfortunately wounded and I had to put those plans on hold."

Sherlock could feel John getting angry. He was also not very pleased with this bit of news his brother was relaying. Before John could ask, he did it for him, "You wouldn't have anything to do with John running into Mike Stamford in the park, would you? Before he met me? Because Mycroft…"

"Oh don't be ridiculous. That was just a happy coincidence. Really Sherlock, you are imagining a more sinister scenario than I ever intended. No, I did not conveniently place Mike Stamford in the park nor cause John to walk through it in time to bump into him. It just happened that way. Now gentlemen, I'd like you to hear my proposal so we can get on with this business."

Sherlock was still suspicious. He knew how his brother's mind worked, but if it would protect John he'd hear him out.

"Oh very well. We won't get any peace until you meddle in our lives."

"I propose that you to become more than flatmates."

"I AM NOT GAY!"

"Oh please Dr. Watson. I know that! I am not talking about anything between the two of you but a traditional wizard and familiar binding, with a slight modification." Mycroft smiled at them as if he were bestowing a treat upon two unruly schoolboys.

Sherlock looked at John and saw the same questions mirrored in his eyes. He looked back at his brother and then he looked at his brother harder.

"Oh yes. I see. Very clever. It's a win-win situation for you isn't it Mycroft? John says yes, you get a powerful wizard on your side, one you believe you can control, but if John says no you can present a wizard to the counsel, one who is decent and kind and you use him anyway. Ether way you are planning on using him to track down wizards. Very nice," his voice dripped with sarcasm.

Mycroft sniffed, "Since you have missed the point entirely, I will not enlighten you. I will give you a few days to think about it however. I expect your answer soon. Gentlemen," he paused, with a pointed look at John. "Oh, and it's Abyssinian by the by." And with that he left.

Sherlock looked at John. "John you don't…"

John looked back at Sherlock, "Let's forget about it for now, okay? I don't think I can make any decisions right at this moment. To much going through my head." He gave Sherlock a rather pale smile.

Sherlock nodded and acquiesced to John. He drummed his fingers. There was no way Mycroft was going to get him to do something he didn't want to do. There was no way he was going to let him hurt John. He would have to think of something else.

oOo

John was quiet for most of the day.

Sherlock could practically hear him thinking and normally it would have driven him mad with distraction, but he was curious as to what John would decide.

He was thinking of options as well.

On one hand it would be intriguing and certainly provide a unique perspective to be joined to a wizard. There had only ever been a few pairings since the Wizard Wars, wizards like John, but unlike him, and ones who had been discovered when they were children, before they were corrupted. There was currently only one such pairing right now. And as he tried to avoid speaking to either of them unless necessary, he really had no idea what would happen, what to expect. He'd been away from The Family when they had been joined. It seemed to work well for the two of them.

On the other hand, he didn't like the idea of having to be tied to someone in such away. Once joined the only thing that could separate the bonding was death. And that wasn't particularly pleasant happenstance for the surviving party. The shock from the death could very well kill the other.

He was curious as to what the modifications were that Mycroft had mentioned. In a traditional binding the wizard was the person with the control. He assumed that The Family had changed the rules. Cats had their own particular magic and having studied wizards all these years, he was sure they must have come up with some new tricks. Certainly with the other bonded pair, the cat in that situation was the one in charge.

He also didn't know how he felt about taking away some of John's rights and freedoms. Yes, he was a wizard and yes they weren't to be trusted, but this was John for heaven's sake. Even Mycroft claimed he trusted him.

He was beginning to wonder how much of all this was cat propaganda. He was certain that that was part of Mycroft's agenda. Show the wizards they could be controlled. Not happy propaganda that, but he had a feeling there was more to it than Myc was suggesting.

He was coming to an uneasy conclusion that he would accept if John did, when John finally spoke.

"Sherlock, if you are up for this I think we should try."

Sherlock's contrary cat nature reared its ugly head and all the fine balancing was driven right out.

"John, that is easily the most idiotic thing you have suggested in the short time I've known you. You would be giving up your rights and certain freedoms."

John shrugged.

"Yeah, but it's not like I have better options. Besides I figure if we do this I have a better chance of keeping you in one piece," he said this with a rather shaky grin.

Sherlock scoffed, "I am perfectly capable of landing on my own two feet. I am rarely in any danger."

John laughed right out loud, "Right" he coughed suddenly, a cough that sounded suspiciously like the word 'cabbie'.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "I was never in any danger. I had everything under control."

John continued to laugh.

Sherlock practically bristled. John waved his hand at him.

"Settle down. No need to get your fur up. You know what I mean," he said with fondness in his voice. "I just don't see that we have many other options. If Mycroft is going to insist on having some sort of control over me, I'd rather it be you who's keeping me in check. Who knows, now that I have information about all of this maybe I'll get all power hungry too."

"Yes John, because you've had a sudden personality shift and all the goodness and light bubbling through you has suddenly evaporated." Sherlock continued to scowl. He wasn't being stubborn. He was looking out for his friend. Couldn't he see that?

A text chime interrupted their musings.

Sherlock pulled out his mobile.

"Lestrade. Says this one is definitely not a mugging. Hmmm. Intriguing. Signs point to being wizard involvement."

John gaped at Sherlock, "Are you saying Lestrade is a cat?"

"Oh John, you are so naïve. No, Greg is not a cat. Yes, he knows I am one, but he is very discreet about it. I had to tell him when he and I were tracking a wizard, back when we first started working together. He knows the signs. It's been rather handy," he paused. "John, I need you to promise me something. As far as we know you have never been up against a wizard before. You are self-taught and you could be a hindrance in this. No, I'm not insulting you; I'm just asking you to follow my lead.

If I ask you to stay behind, you need to do just that. Promise me?" He knew if he could get a promise from John, John would keep it.

John looked at his flatmate. He sighed heavily, "Alright, but not without good reason. If I think you are in danger, I won't leave you."

Sherlock was oddly touched. He would just have to make sure John was out of the way if it became dangerous.

oOo

They arrived at the crime scene. It wasn't like any place John had been before. Maintenance workers in the sewers had discovered the body, up on a ledge. The smell was incredible. Sherlock's nose was twitching, but since he had developed a high tolerance for unpleasant smells he was able to think around it. John, who had also run into some noisome aromas in his time, was hanging on, but barely.

Sherlock examined the body and said to John in an undertone, "You might not be able to see it. I don't know if you would have ever run across this before or known what to look for, but there is a faint gleam to the body. That indicates magic was used to kill this individual. If you concentrate and shift your eyesight you might be able to pick it up. It may take practice."

John nodded and thought about seeing the body differently. He tried to think with the same part of his brain where he "heard' magic. Suddenly he gasped. He could see a faint silver gleam surrounding the boy, concentrated in the area of the victim's heart.

"Very good, John. You did that much faster than most people. I was right. You are very powerful"

John didn't say anything.

Sherlock continued to stand there, looking at the body and frowned. Something wasn't right. He bent down and carefully pulled back the shirt of the victim. There on the chest, glittering in silver were two initials. S and H. He was careful to prevent John from seeing it.

_Oh of course. This isn't a simple murder. This is an invitation. Someone wanted me to find this body._

He thought quickly. This was a powerful wizard. He wasn't going to risk John. This was more dangerous than he had originally thought.

"John, there won't be any signal down here. I need you to go out and phone Mycroft. We are going to need back up for this one."

John stared at Sherlock and Sherlock could tell he was thinking whether or not to believe him. Sherlock kept his gaze steady.

John finally nodded and turned to go, He turned back, "Sherlock, you are not going anywhere without me. Please wait here for me to come back."

"Of course John."

As soon as John was out of sight, Sherlock shifted.

As a cat he could track the wizard more easily, both by sight and smell. He followed the trail, stepping delicately around objects that were better unnamed. He hissed at a few bold rats.

After about thirty minutes or so, he could tell he was getting closer as the trail was fresher. He was just about to backtrack and see if Mycroft had arrived with reinforcements, when he felt a hand on the back of his neck. He had been so intent on what was in front of him he had not been paying attention to his rear. He was shaken roughly and shoved into a metal cage. There was the click of a lock and he heard a voice say, "I've been waiting to meet you for a long time now, Mr. Holmes."

***A/N The motto of Clan Macpherson translates as 'touch not the cat bot a glove'. They are a part of the Scottish Clan Chattan or 'Clan of the Cats". I thought it might be fitting.**


	4. 4 That's My Cat You Are Messing With

**A/N: Sorry - it feels like it's been a while – I think it's only been a week. Family stuff, plus a three and a half hour drive this weekend on some of Canada's most boring highway, too much Tim Horton's coffee and not enough sleep!**

**There will be a Part 2 to this – sometime – I haven't worked out all the details yet – might take me a bit. Besides I haven't answered all of the questions about what Mycroft's up to.**

**Warnings – some swearing and absolutely no knowledge of London's sewer system. **

**Answer to movie quotes – from The Princess Bride - both quotes are slightly modified– in chapter 2 –'Inconceivable – I don't think that means what you think that means' – & in chapter 3 – 'He most likely won't kill you in the morning'.**

**Still don't own damn it!**

4. That's My Cat You Are Messing With

"_A wizard is never late Frodo Baggins. Nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to." _

_Gandalf the Grey TFTR– movie_

Several Hours Later

John was pissed. He was thoroughly and completely pissed with Sherlock and when he got a hold of his scrawny flatmate he was going to give him a hard shake.

He was also angry with Mycroft. He was slightly less annoyed with Lestrade, but that was there, too.

The other two men, both taller than he was, were trying to stare him down and convince him it would be a bad idea to go after Sherlock (_stupid, arrogant, smug, know-it-all, arsehole bastard_) on his own considering he only had minimal training as a wizard.

Mycroft managed somehow to look even taller while looking down his nose at the ex-soldier.

"You have never faced a wizard before, John, let alone a fully trained one. We cannot let you go after Sherlock."

John stared mulishly; "I have training and other kinds of experiences to deal with this Mycroft. It's not like I haven't had to rescue hostages before, including your berk of a brother." Then he frowned slightly not sure how much he should reveal in front of Lestrade about Jeff Hope the cabbie.

Mycroft raised one eyebrow and turned to his assistant Anthea, "Anthea, dear, kindly show Dr. Watson what he's up against."

John wasn't sure what Mycroft was talking about when he suddenly found himself laying on his back staring at the sky.

"Anthea, I do believe I said 'kindly'," there was reproach in Mycroft's voice, as Lestrade chuckled quietly to himself and helped John to his feet.

John looked hard at Mycroft and then over to Anthea who tapped away at her Blackberry.

"Why didn't you say something?" he asked her softly. She just flashed her beautiful, but somewhat indifferent smile at John and continued to ignore him.

John leveled his gaze at Mycroft. "She's a wizard?"

"Yes. She was rescued when she was quite young. We raised her and trained her. And she was using minimal force on you. You have no idea how to protect yourself."

John crossed his arms. He was beginning to wonder at the one-sidedness of what he was hearing about the cats verses wizards war, and although now was not the time, because his stupid flatmate had managed to get himself captured, he did say to Mycroft,

"We are going to have a little chat when all this is over. I want to know everything you are doing, taking children away from their families."

Mycroft frowned at John. "Yes we will sit down and have a chat. There's much you don't know. You should not presume that we are simply taking children away from parents who actually care about their offspring."

John nodded sharply, putting it behind him for now and concentrated on what was happening. He was thinking about the moment after contacting Mycroft with Sherlock's request for help (_bastard wanted me out of the way so he could track the wizard down himself) _when he went back to where the body was and discovered Sherlock had disappeared. He had followed the trail until he came upon a note. It had been written on heavy parchment and tacked to the wall near a heavy concentration of the silver glow. The note had read.

_My Dear Mycroft,_

_I have your annoying brother. Come and claim him. It's time we had a little chat about the order of things. The wizard Community is very unhappy with your continued interference. But I do recommend you hurry. By the time you get here Sherlock will have been a cat for an awfully long time._

_AS_

With his heart racing and adrenalin pumping, he went back to where the body was and looked at it more carefully. That's when he noticed the S and the H on the body over the chest. He cursed the detective, knowing it had been that that had lured Sherlock. He'd probably seen it before he'd sent John away. He had hurried back to meet Mycroft. By the time he climbed out of the sewer, Mycroft had arrived with Anthea.

The two of them were now prepared to go down into the sewers. John was trying to convince them to let him come. They weren't going to let him. He crossed his arms. Mycroft looked at John and sighed.

"I suppose if I simply ask you to stay you will try to follow us?"

"You assume correctly."

"Very well. But you will do as you are told. Anthea cannot protect you while she is protecting me."

"She won't need to."

Mycroft sighed again. If something happened to John, Sherlock was not going to forgive him. Of course if they didn't get there in time Sherlock wasn't going to be able to do anything about it.

"We need to hurry. You may have noticed the threat to Sherlock in the note. We can only remain cats for several hours. After that we have to change back. This A.S. person may have him confined in a small cage. He will therefore be unable to change."

"What happens then? If he can't change back?"

"He will die."

John's face hardened, "Then we had better get a move on. He's already been gone for more than over an hour."

Mycroft and Anthea had changed into protective environmental suits. John had already been climbing around down in the sewers so he didn't bother. Lestrade was going to wait for them out here. Being a 'civilian' in this war he was not allowed to come with them. He would keep his eyes open for any sign of anyone leaving the sewers from this exit. Of course there were hundreds of other places someone could escape from. They would not be able to contact each other over mobiles, as the signal would be lost.

Down they went going back to where the body still waited. Anthea took a cursory glance at it.

"It looks as if he was hit with a hex straight to his heart. Probably a civilian as he doesn't appear to have any traces other than those left upon him. Definitely not a cat."

Mycroft nodded and they continued down the sewer and followed the trail back to where John had found the note. They kept going. After what seemed like hours, but was only about 20 minutes later, they came to a junction. Standing in the junction was a man. He was about the same size as John, but thinner, almost spidery looking. He was older than Mycroft and he was balding with thin wisps of white hair circling his head. He grinned maniacally when he caught sight of the three of them.

"Ah Mycroft. So nice to see you again and you have brought the lovely wizard you stole from us. Perhaps we will have her back when we are through here." Anthea glared at the wizard, obviously not much impressed. "But what is this?" and here he was looking at John. "Oh ho. Mycroft you are always full of surprises. An untrained wizard! How delightful. Well, well. Not something you see everyday." His grin widened. There was something definitely slimy in that grin. John felt the way one did when a rock was turned over and there's a slug underneath. John said nothing; he just stared at the wizard. Then he noticed the small metal animal carrier on the ledge behind him. There was a padlock locking the little door. A bedraggled looking Burmese cat looked out at the three of them and growled low in his throat. He hissed at the wizard. John could tell that the cat was feeling more than a little uncomfortable.

_Sherlock_, he thought.

Mycroft looked down on the smaller man. "Alfred Stephenson. I should have guessed."

"What? Not going to introduce me to your new friend?"

"He is of no concern of yours," Mycroft said dismissing John's presence as unimportant.

"All wizards and all wizard children are my concern. Especially when you cats keep taking them from us. But when you have discovered an untrained wizard, ah that's very intriguing. Very intriguing indeed. There aren't many undiscovered wizards." John could have sworn the man almost cackled with glee. It was like being in a bad fairy tale. "Perhaps now that I know about him I will included him in the cost of freeing your brother." Sherlock hissed again and tried to reach out with a paw and swipe at the man, but he was too far away. He settled for spitting and hissing some more.

"I really don't think you are in any position to negotiate, Alfred. Please release Sherlock and we will be on our way. Oh and I will hunt you down and destroy you after I have seen to Sherlock's safety."

Alfred Stephenson grinned even harder. "I don't think so, Mycroft. I won't make it that easy for you. I have spelled the lock. Only I can undo it and if you don't meet my demands then Sherlock will die. He really only has a little time left. He's been a cat for long enough now, don't you think?"

John could see that Sherlock was in some distress. His sides were heaving and his eyes looked glassy. He was biting at the bars of the cage and every once in a while he let out a silent meow. John was thinking quickly.

Anthea moved suddenly and threw a hex at Stephenson. It simply bounced off. He cackled again. "Oh my dear, I know all about you and your little tricks. I have prepared against you. That is the trouble with bonding with a cat the way you have. It makes you weak not strong. Now I'm thinking about reaching in this cage and forcing a bonding with your brother if you don't stop this nonsense Mycroft. Here," and he reached into his coat and pulled out an envelop of the same parchment the note had been written on, "is a list of demands, including return of all kidnapped wizard children and granting us more freedoms."

Mycroft bestowed a cold smile upon the wizard. "I don't really have the authority to grant any of those demands, Alfred. You know that. The Family isn't going to agree to them either, no matter who you cage up."

"Oh I think you will. Particularly when you see how awful it is for a cage cat when not allowed to transform. It can get rather messy. I've been conducting experiments on some of your people. It has been most enlightening."

John was getting tired of all the posturing. He knew he was no match for the wizard using spells. He did know there was something he could do about freeing Sherlock though. He was once again grateful that he didn't rely on magic to solve his problems. He was standing in Mycroft's shadow so the wizard couldn't see him move. There was a loud bang as John fired his gun at the lock on the cage. He then turned rapidly and clipped the wizard in the shoulder. Whilst the wizard yelled and went down, the confined cat jumped out of the cage and in midleap morphed into the tall and lanky detective. He stood and shook himself letting his bones and muscles settle back into human form. He was sweaty and feverish looking, but he flashed a grateful smile at John and leaned back against the wall to catch his breath.

John sauntered over to where the wizard lay; fortunately he hadn't landed in anything too disgusting, although being shot in a sewer was not the most sanitary of locations to receive a wound. John pulled out some gauze from his deep pockets and proceeded to make a pressure bandage. He tied it not too gently over the wound. The wizard looked at him with a combination of fear, loathing and hatred.

"How?" he whispered. "How did you do it?"

John just grinned rather smugly, "I rather thought you might not be expecting a plain ordinary weapon. I figured you be prepared for a spell, but not for a gun. It pays to branch out, you know." He grinned back at Mycroft and Anthea. She looked as if she had swallowed a bug. She did pick her way over to where John was patching up Stephenson and she did a complex turn of her hands and Stephenson was effectively, if invisibly, chained. John walked over to where Sherlock leaned against the wall.

"You alright?" he asked the detective.

Sherlock nodded, "Yes thank you. You were almost a little late arriving." He smirked at John his breath and colour coming back.

John smiled, "Sherlock don't you know? 'A wizard arrives precisely when he means to!'"

oOo

Several Hours and Some Clean Clothes Later

"Are you sure you're ready?" Anthea asked John. "It won't be easy for you, more so than Sherlock. You will feel rather dizzy for a few hours."

John shrugged, "Can't be worse than getting shot, can it? Will I be able to keep track of him?" he asked in an undertone.

Anthea looked to see if either Sherlock or Mycroft were looking, but Mycroft was busy preparing Sherlock, "Yes. You will know if he is hurt or missing, any kind of distress. You will also know when he transforms." She paused; "Are you prepared for what will happen if it's fatal?" she looked rather solemn.

"I'm given to understand that if either of us were to be killed the other might not survive," he didn't look scared or intimidated by this. He looked very matter of fact. "Look, I'm not afraid. I'm in this for the long haul, knew that the night…you know." He was pretty sure that Mycroft and Anthea knew about Jeff Hope. She nodded in understanding.

Mycroft cleared his throat, "Gentlemen if you are ready, would you kindly take a seat."

John and Sherlock sat across from each other in their usual chairs. The seats had been drawn closer together.

"Let us begin," said Mycroft. He remained standing and held out a hand to Sherlock and to John. Anthea did the same across from him.

The process didn't take very long. There was no chanting, which John half expected, just a mild tingle rather like a jolt of electricity, which gradually got stronger. The lights flickered momentarily. He was just thinking it wasn't so bad when a more powerful surge went through him and he felt dizzy. He looked across at Sherlock and for a moment he felt him inside his head. Sherlock frowned at the same time. John's impression of Sherlock's thoughts was of chaotic order or perhaps disorganized symmetry. It was decidedly odd. The room began spinning and John felt sweat break out on his forehead. Sherlock looked paler than ever.

And then it was over.

John took a shaky breath and frowned. He felt very dizzy, but there was a strange energy in the part of his brain where he heard magic, the same area he had concentrated on when he learned to see the silver trail. He closed his eyes hoping it would stop the room from spinning. After a minute he opened them again. He had been very aware of Sherlock sitting across from him.

"Don't worry. It feels raw and new right now, but you'll get use to it. Rather like when people first get glasses. After awhile they don't notice they are wearing them, unless they concentrate. Or so I've been told," Mycroft smiled that wintery smile of his.

John passed a shaky hand over his face and glanced back at Sherlock. Sherlock was beginning to look a bit better.

"Sorry to inform you John, but cats tend to recover more quickly than wizards. It has something to do with our transformation abilities. I suggest you go lie down for a bit. Come my dear, we really should be going. We must see about arrangements for Arthur Stephenson's transportation to a more appropriate holding cell. We will be in touch about furthering your training, John. Have a pleasant evening."

And with that Mycroft and Anthea left the flat.

Sherlock got up and crossed to where John was sitting, "You alright, John?" he asked. John was mildly surprised that Sherlock could be arsed to ask. He didn't usually care one way or another.

"Of course I care," Sherlock huffed. "I need you fit and ready to go. Never know when I'll have need of you."

He pulled John to his feet and directed him to the stairs leading up to the doctor's room. "Now up you go. I'll give you an hour to rest and then I expect you to be down here making tea. Go on!"

John grimaced. The room was still jumbling around. Sherlock rolled his eyes and helped John up the stairs. He pushed him down on to his bed and pulled the duvet over top of the doctor.

Then not unkindly, he said, "Get some sleep John," and he turned out the light.

John sighed and closed his eyes. He fell asleep rather quickly.

And dreamt of mice.

End of Part 1

**A/N: Thanks to all who have followed, favored and reviewed so far:**

**My usual support group and fabulous friends – johnsarmylady, jack63kids, Ennui Enigma, potterlock1867**

**Special thanks to Lucy36, SassyVeeDub**

**And to Matchbox Dragon, Anknara, Jfreak, Kama Leono Serene Sage, Burnedoutpixels, Arty Diane, patemalah21, aerinoutlander, Book girl fan**

**Hope I didn't forget anyone!**


	5. 5 I Toad You There'd be Days Like This

**A/N: This takes place a few days after the events in Warts and All and a few weeks after the last chapter.**

**Any mistakes are my own, especially since my usual editor is still asleep- sorry potterlock1867 – brownie points if you know the significance of the numbers in her penname!**

**Don't own. I'm sure ACD, Gatiss, & Moffat are grateful since I made Sherlock into a cat and do bad things periodically to John (grin) – oh and yes my friends who know me that is foreshadowing – cue the maniacal laughter!**

5. I Toad You There'd be Days Like This

"_If God had wanted us to be concerned for the plight of the toads, he would have made them cute and furry. " __ Dave Barry_

"Drop it!"

There was no reply.

"Sherlock, drop it NOW! It will make you sick!" John stifled the urge to pick Sherlock up by the scruff of the neck and shake the toad out of his mouth. Sherlock looked up at John with his luminescent green eyes and growled at the doctor.

"Don't you take that tone with me. Spit out that toad right now!" He glared at the cat.

A soft quavering voice at John's side interrupted the scolding.

"My Dear, you can't change the nature of that wee cat. It wants to hunt. You have to let it. No cat worth it's salt is going to voluntarily give up a prize like that."

John sighed, firmly placed his exasperation in check. How does one explain to a kindly well-meaning old woman that the cat in question wasn't really a cat nor was the toad a toad? John pasted a smile on his face and said to the old woman. "Yes I know, but toads can make an animal sick."

"Well maybe if you offer him something better." She rummaged around in her knit shopping bag and produced a small tin with a picture of a smiling cat on the front. She carefully pulled the tab up and held the can out to the growling animal in front of her. "Here kitty, kitty, kitty. Look what I have for you? Yum, yum, yum. Wouldn't puss want some nice tasty cat food?"

Fortunately the old lady was bent over and couldn't see the expression on John's face. He was desperately trying not to laugh at Sherlock. How a cat could look so affronted was beyond him. And with a toad in his mouth as well! Sherlock was absolutely put off by the cat food and the tone and probably by the fact that the old woman was treating him like a cat. John raised his eyebrow in warning and Sherlock after one last grumble dropped the toad. The toad, being slightly stunned from being turned into a toad and from being carried around in a cat's mouth, lay there like a great brown blob, not sure what to do. John quietly picked up the toad and held it behind his back. Sherlock lifted his nose up at the old lady and sauntered off down the block, indignant tail in the air. John thanked her hurriedly and ran to catch up with the cat.

When they were out of sight of any passersby, there was a shimmer in the air around Sherlock and in place of the cat, stood a tall, dark haired man.

"Sherlock, you can't keep trying to eat the suspects after I've turned them into toads. Toads can be toxic to animals."

The other man sniffed, "Well maybe if you would turn them into something other than toads, I wouldn't be in any danger."

"If I could turn them into something else I would, but I seem to be stuck on toad. Besides you simply cannot eat the suspects."

Sherlock just looked at John levelly, "John I would never eat a suspect."

"Yes, Sherlock I know…"

"I would only eat the guilty ones."

"Yes, I under…wait! What?" He looked at his flatmate more closely and saw that he was, possibly, unbelievably, joking. "Very funny Sherlock. I'm just never sure how cat like you are when you are a cat." He found a clean handkerchief to wrap the toad in and carefully placed it in his pocket. When they were closer to Scotland Yard, he'd change the toad back into the art thief. He'd wipe the man's memory before handing him over so he wouldn't remember being a toad. Not that anyone would believe him. It just prevented the thief from getting off on a charge of insanity.

Sherlock raised a hand and with the magic peculiar to all cats everywhere a cab pulled up beside them. He gave John his best fake grin and climbed into the cab. John had no choice but to follow.

After dropping the former toad off at Scotland Yard the two friends made their way back to their flat where it took Sherlock approximately 15 minutes before he proclaimed "Bored" in a loud obnoxious voice. John, who was catching up on his blog, ignored Sherlock's first two attempts at capturing his attention. On the third, he simply stated without looking up,

"Shall I get a ball of yarn for you?"

Sherlock sent a withering glance at John which was also ignored, so he said, scathingly "If I had know how witty you were I would never have told you I was a cat."

"You didn't tell me. I figured it out for myself." John typed slowly, still not looking, his tongue stuck out.

"Only after I showed up as a cat and inadvertently tried to eat a mouse."

"There was no inadvertent about it. You were practically drooling. You were going to eat that poor mouse, tail and all."

"You use of the English language is particularly plebeian today."

"Yes, Sherlock."

"John?"

John looked up.

"I'm bored."

"What would you like me to do about it?"

"Entertain me. Do something magical. I wish to study your progress."

"Sherlock! I am not going to entertain you by performing magic ticks. Magic is not to be used frivolously."

"Is that what you told Anderson when you toadified him?"

John did a double take, "You knew about that? I thought you missed it."

Sherlock scoffed, "John, please! As if I would miss something that obvious. I was rather grateful at your attempt to teach Anderson a lesson. I suspect however he may try to take some sort of revenge. But it was still…nice."

"Nice?"

"Yes, nice."

John looked bemused, smiled slightly at the attempt at a compliment, nodded his head and went back to his poky typing.

A few minutes quiet minutes tick by.

"Still bored, John."

John sighed, carefully placed his laptop on the table and stood up.

"Come on then."

"Where are we going?"

"I have to leave soon for my next lesson with Anthea. You can come with and watch."

Sherlock looked surprised, although he tried to hide it. He'd wanted to see John practice magic, but John had been adamant about Sherlock not watching him, partly because he was self-conscious and partly because it was something he wanted to do without Sherlock.

They grabbed their coats and headed out of the door. Again a cab pulled up as soon as Sherlock raised his hand.

"So how do you do that exactly? Get a cab all the time I mean?" John asked as they climbed into the cab.

Sherlock shrugged, "A cat can get pretty much anything he wants just by thinking about it. Same with mobile phone service, WiFi, great seats at the opera. I don't usually have trouble getting a signal, except underground. It's a cat thing."

"Let's see. That's twice you had questionable word usage. 'Toadified' and 'thing' and you have the nerve to say my use of the English language is plebeian," John smiled.

"Your use of the English language is plebeian."

They bickered back and forth comfortably as they rode to one of the secure buildings owned by The Family where Mycroft had set up a special room. He had the room set aside where John could practice with Anthea. It was shielded and reinforced and anyone who was not magical shouldn't be aware that there was anything strange going on there.

The cab pulled up in front of the unremarkable building. The two men exited, John, naturally paying for the cab once again. Occasionally he lifted, although he preferred the word 'appropriated', money from Sherlock's wallet. He felt no guilt over this. He looked at it as spoils of war from cases he'd helped on. If the detective insisted on riding in cabs then John insisted the detective help pay for them.

They entered the building. There was no receptionist. It was rather like an office building in that there were several other 'businesses' that used the facility. The Family naturally controlled all of these and they all had something to do with The Work. The Work was what The Family did to ensure that a group of mad, power hungry wizards didn't plan on taking over the world. Whenever John heard that phrase in his head, music from _Pinky and The Brain_ always played in the background. He didn't like the idea of thinking he might be Pinky, but he also knew he definitely wasn't one of the miscreant wizards. 'Snarf' said the same part of his brain tuned into the music.

John and Sherlock made their way down the hallway until they came to a boring, plain, wooden door. A boring, plain, wooden door reinforced by steel and special spells and hexes placed there by Anthea. John still called her that, because she continued to refuse to reveal her real name and because it was the one he could remember.

John knocked politely. The door was opened by an attractive brunette, who looked strangely out of place without the familiar Blackberry attached to her hand like an extra appendage.

"Good Afternoon," John said politely.

Anthea quirked an eyebrow and glanced over his shoulder at Sherlock. She glanced back at John. "Finally couldn't take his droning on about being bored?"

John chuckled, "Something like that."

"Well, good. You can use the bond between the two of you to enhance your powers. Perhaps we can get over the mental block you're having with some of these spells. Nice work on Anderson by the way. Never did like that creepy, insufferable, letch."

John did a double take. Firstly that was the most he'd ever heard Anthea say in one go. Secondly because she also knew about his little trick with Anderson.

"You knew about…? Never mind, of course you did. How do you know Anderson?"

She just smiled mysteriously. John gave up because he'd never been able to get more out of her than that.

She turned and walked away from the two men, one of whom appreciated the view of her retreating posterior, one who was indifferent. She walked to the centre of the room and looked back at the two men. She spoke to Sherlock.

"This will work better the first few times if you are a cat. After awhile he can connect to you just as easily while you are a man. This maybe why you can't get past turning people into toads. You may not have connected enough yet. It takes practice."

John just nodded and listened carefully. Sherlock just stood wearing indifference as well as he wore his coat. He had come to observe John, not partake in his workout.

"Well?" she asked imperiously.

"Well what?"

She smirked, "Your brother is never this reluctant to shift. Why are you?"

"Using my brother as an example will not make me do this any faster," Sherlock grouched.

"Just do it," exhaled John.

With a glare Sherlock shifted. John felt it as well as saw it. It was rather like a single note unheard. A dark brown, bordering on black Burmese cat sat looking up at the two bipeds left in the room.

Anthea walked over and picked up Sherlock without preamble. He hissed at her, which she ignored. She placed him on John's right shoulder. John was a little startled, but shifted his balance without thinking. Sherlock, more than startled, dug his claws through the material and into John's flesh.

"Ow! Ouch. Dammit Sherlock, claws!"

Sherlock grumbled and swore some more.

"You know I am beginning to understand more of what you are saying. You certainly swear a lot when you are a cat, more than you do as a detective." He reached up and steadied the cat.

Anthea watched the entire scene with unconcealed amusement.

"When you are first starting out the more you are in physical contact the better your bond." She grinned wickedly at the words 'physical contact'. John muttered, 'so not gay' under his breath. She just grinned more broadly. "I should have insisted you bring him before this, but I know you have some skill and are getting use to developing others. Bring him from now on please. And you," she pointed at Sherlock, "watch your mouth. I am conversant in cat."

Anthea stepped back a few paces and addressed John. "Let's try tapping into the bond first since I know you haven't had a lot of time to practice that. Think about the place in your head where you 'hear' the magic." John closed his eyes. "Now reach out to Sherlock with it. It's similar to the silver trail we see when following magic." John could almost visualize a thin thread of silver connecting him to the cat on his shoulder. He followed the very thin thread to where it joined his friend. As he got closer to the cat a sudden surge of power fled back up along the thin connection and hit him. Hard. John stumbled and Sherlock clung harder, complaining, his fur looked like it had exploded. He was twice his size from static electricity.

"What was that?" John asked as he shook his head to clear the dizziness.

Anthea looked as confused as John. "I don't know. It's almost as if Sherlock's rejecting you trying to connect to him. Has this happened before?"

John looked slightly abashed. "Ummm, we really haven't tried to connect. I think I am so use to working on my own in this area, I ummm, haven't really tried."

Anthea looked thoughtful for a moment. "I probably should have insisted you bring him along sooner. Well it can't be helped now. We'll just have to keep trying."

After about half an hour of John tentatively reaching out and continually getting a backlash from Sherlock they decided to call it a day. Sherlock shifted back. Both men looked decidedly worse for wear and Sherlock's eyes glittered strangely. Although she was trying very hard to conceal it, Anthea looked concerned. She promised John and Sherlock that she would do some further research and see if she could find anything in the old manuscripts regarding this type of problem.

The two men left the building, grabbed a cab and suffered through a silent ride home, neither wished to voice their concern over this unexpected development. Sherlock had already withdrawn and John wasn't sure how to broach the subject. Home and a cuppa seemed in order.

Wrapped up in their silence and worry, neither of them noticed the person standing on the corner across from the building. She had a map in her hand and was dressed like a tourist, but instead of being interested in the sights, she watched the cab pull away.

She pulled out a mobile.

"I found him. Further instructions? I see. Well, that should be fun."

She grinned wickedly and held up a hand, anticipating the hunt. As if by magic a cab appeared in front of her.


	6. 6 Cat Got His Own Tongue

**A/N: Sorry it took me a while to update – got caught up with other stories! **

**Thanks to all who have followed, favourited and reviewed – I am keeping track!**

6. Cat Got His Own Tongue

_For a man to truly understand rejection, he must first be ignored by a cat. Anonymous (mouse? – hee hee) _

Returning to the flat and making tea did nothing to alleviate the tension felt in the air between the two men. John looked rather morose, as he stared into the dregs of his mug. Sherlock could tell just by looking at his body language the doctor was annoyed he could not connect with the detective.

_He is blaming himself._

Sherlock squirmed. He wasn't sure how to broach with John it wasn't the doctor. It was Sherlock. He had almost consciously rejected every overture made by John to connect and did not want to admit to himself that he was actively throwing John out of his head. He couldn't seem to stop doing it. And now he didn't know how to tell John.

John sighed and picked up the empty mugs. Sherlock watched him walk away out of the corner of his eye. Watched as he stood in the kitchen staring at the sink as if he hoped it contained answers.

Sherlock really did not like introspection. He felt he knew who he was and he dismissed his flaws as unimportant or not flaws at all, but necessary to solving puzzles. He was well aware that most people found him arrogant, annoying, lacking in social niceties but there was one person who saw past all of that and had found the inner Sherlock, the one who was insecure, liked praise and was lonelier than he'd admit out loud. Who liked him just the way he was.

And that was John.

Discovering the fact that John was what he was and they could join as familiar and wizard had seemed exciting at the time, another chance to experiment and gather new data. He didn't realize it would scare him. Scare him to let someone into his very core.

He'd recognized it almost immediately the night Mycroft and Anthea had made the connection between them.

He had been rather glad that John had not insisted he come with him to practice before this. He had only come today because he was bored and look at what had happened.

John returned from the kitchen and stood awkwardly gazing at his flatmate.

He cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry Sherlock. You know, that I couldn't…"

"John," he began.

"No let me finish. It must be because I am too late or set in my ways for this training business to work and…"

"John!"

"What?"

"itwasntyou" Sherlock muttered.

"What?!"

"I said it wasn't you!"

Silence

"What do you mean?"

"You weren't the reason why we weren't joining," Sherlock looked pensive. "I did it. I…didn't want you in my head."

John tilted his head and looked at Sherlock, "Little late for that, don't you think? I already feel you in my head." He slumped a bit. "Think you should have thought this through some more before we joined up, don't you?"

"It seemed expedient at the time." Sherlock was entering uncomfortable territory and he didn't know how to handle the influx of emotional baggage.

John fidgeted a bit, staring.

"You're upset."

"Yes, Sherlock. I'm upset. I find out that I am joined to a cat who wants to have nothing to do with me trouncing through his head. But here's the kicker. If either of us dies, the other's probably not far behind. I've tied my life to you in more ways than one, but it seems you don't want to be tied to me. So yeah, you could say I'm a bit upset. We should have discussed this Sherlock. I know you think you have entire conversations with me, usually when I am not around, but you could have said something along the lines of "Oh, so sorry John, can't join with you yet until I figure out how to let people IN!" He fairly roared the last word, anger and hurt and frustration warring with each other.

Sherlock glanced away. He thought if he didn't look at John perhaps he could ignore what he was feeling. The ex-soldier wore his emotions rather openly and if Sherlock couldn't see them, then perhaps he wouldn't feel them himself.

"Sherlock, are we going to talk about this or are you just going to ignore me and hope it goes away." John managed to keep his voice even. Barley.

Sherlock muttered something under his breath. John only caught 'wish' and away'.

"Sorry, I didn't quite catch that."

Sherlock didn't answer, but stood, walked over to the window, back toward John, ignoring him.

"Sherlock?"

Pause

"Are you going to answer me? You can't just keep me in the dark like this."

"Ooo whoo! Just me! Are you two alright? Hope I'm not interrupting anything." Mrs. Hudson popped her head in, looking concerned and motherly."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. John really did get carried away sometimes, letting his emotions run all over the place. Yes he was not happy about John's need to have to invade his 'mind space', but really, the short angry looking wizard did tend to overreact.

Sherlock turned abruptly and made his way back to his chair. He sat as if ready to pronounce judgement upon an errant John.

"No Mrs. Hudson we are fine. John is just getting into a bit of a strop over a trivial problem. Just ignore him. I'm sure he'll settle down." Sherlock maintained eye contact with John the entire time he was speaking. He saw John blanch and then turn bright red. His blogger's usual affable nature was thoroughly squashed as his righteous anger boiled over.

John abruptly turned and grabbed his coat. He thrust his arms into his sleeves and attacked the fastenings as if they had insulted him.

Sherlock had the nerve to look puzzled. "Where are you going?"

"Out," came from between clenched teeth. John clattered down the stairs without a backward glance.

Sherlock drummed his fingers against the arm of the chair.

_Well that was entirely uncalled for._

"Really Sherlock! What did you say to him? Do you two ever stop fighting? It's like cats and dogs in here sometime. You should really go after him and apologize."

Sherlock hunched deeper into his chair and only just stopped himself from throwing a sneer in Mrs. Hudson's direction. No good alienating her as well. He decided to ignore her as she bustled around 'tidying'.

He grabbed his violin and started sawing away, tormenting the poor thing.

_John would just have to get over it._

oOo

John marched stiffly away from the fight, back straight, hands clenched, not sure which direction he was headed, just as long as it was away.

He knew he had overreacted a bit when presented with Sherlock's confession. He understood that his flatmate/partner/cat had a difficult time talking about feelings and emotions and applying them to living people. He knew all of this intellectually and he normally would have been patient with the younger man, but that had hurt.

He walked along for a bit lost in thought, not really paying any attention. He was turned inward enough that he didn't immediately notice someone bumping into him. He staggered a bit and automatically started to say sorry when he noticed the person he had bumped up against.

She was pretty, a little taller than he was, short dark hair.

There was something about her that seemed familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.

"I am terribly sorry," he said. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

She looked at him with a bright and lovely smile, "Oh, no. Don't be silly. I wasn't watching either." Her lovely smile and the intense look in her eyes made him think that perhaps his luck was turning around.

"Perhaps I can make it up to you," said John. "Can I buy you a cup of coffee?"

"That would be perfect."

They walked away together to a little bistro up the road and spent a lovely afternoon getting to know each other.

He was thinking, _Well this is a nice surprise to an otherwise horrible day._

_A girl can't be just all work,_ she thought. _Got to have a little fun as well. Such a lovely man. Shame._

It wasn't until they were walking back along the street that she signaled to the people who followed unobtrusively behind to capture John and take him away. Not without a fight, mind. He didn't seem to be able to use any of his powers, but he had been trained in the military and there were more than a few cuts and bruises on his capturers to prove it. Finally one of them hit John's head hard against the pavement and as he was trying to shake away the dark spots, they hastily bundled him into the car that had pulled up alongside.

The young woman smiled to herself and turned to walk back toward John and Sherlock's flat. Time to pay a visit to the detective. Let him know how things stood. Have him inform his interfering, meddlesome brother that there was a new order in town, an order that wasn't going to put up with the Holmes clan and their pet wizards.

_Yes, a girl couldn't have too much fun._ And her eyes turned feral.


	7. 7 The Way of the Wizard

**A/N: Bless you lake effect snow and the subsequent snowsqualls you produce that prevent me from stirring from the house today. Now if only you will stay until Monday & then I can stay home from work!**

**I want to thank Book girl fan for the challenge of including "Do you two ever stop fighting?" in a story. I forgot to acknowledge her in the last chapter – thanks sweetie – it was good timing for that chapter!**

**Warnings – Enough melodrama in this chapter to twirl your handlebar mustache!**

7. The Way of the Wizard

"_The thinnest thing in the world is the border between good and evil..." Ivan Stoikov_

They threw John into a room and locked the door. He was more than a little put out by the whole business.

He fiddled with the band of silver they had forced around his wrist as he had struggled in the car. He wasn't sure what it was for but he had a suspicion. It made his wrist feel funny, rather tingly as if he had the beginnings of pins and needles.

He took a more careful look around the room he was in. It looked like a small library, all bookshelves and comfortable seating. There was a fireplace with a fire snapping and crackling in it and on one table was a tray with a pitcher of water and some glasses. It immediately made him thirsty. He eyed it warily, but then mentally shrugged. If they wanted him unconscious or dead they would have done that already and his head hurt from where it had been slammed against the pavement.

He walked over and poured a glass. He drank it in one go and set down the glass. He took a more careful look around the room. There were several tall, elegant windows. He walked over and glanced out. The windows were locked. He tried using his powers to open the windows, but he hit a barrier in his mind. It had been similar when he was bundled into the car. He hadn't been able to make a move then either. He was closer to having his suspicion confirmed. He wondered if the glass would break if he threw something against it. The room was high enough off the ground to make jumping out the window a cautionary business. He would jump if he had to, but it would most likely end in a twisted ankle at the least. Besides part of him was curious as to what was happening.

He scanned the bookshelves for something to pass the time, picked out a comfortable chair and settled in to read while he waited to find out what was going on.

oOo

Sherlock was beginning to wonder if John was ever going to return home. He had been gone most of the day. He had once or twice before stormed off when annoyed by something Sherlock had done, but he was never gone long.

He usually came back with a peace offering, like take-away. As Sherlock was between cases he was rather interested in eating and hoped John would return soon.

_Ah, there's the front door. Here he is._

He tilted his head to listen.

_No, footsteps are too light. Not John. Female. Careful tread. Cat? Oh for the love of… No place to hide!_

Just before she crossed the threshold into the room, Sherlock, with a scowl on his face, said,

"Ah Catherine, so unexpectedly inconvenient of you to drop by. I am not interested in rehashing old family feuds with you today. Perhaps you can toddle off and bother Mycroft for the day. Tell him I sent you along with my love, will you?"

A petite, dark haired woman stood grinning in the doorway.

"Sherlock, darling, how…pleasant to see you again. I had forgotten how much I missed your clever and biting tongue." She said this with a certain relish, as if she were savoring a tender piece of steak. "I am not here to bother you and I would imagine Mycroft is on his way. Which will make it so much easier to deliver my message. 'It won't work'."

Sherlock actually looked puzzled, "What won't work?" He knew Mycroft had _plans_, he just didn't really care or pay attention to them.

She paused looked him up and down, her grin increased and, if it was possible, became more wild, "Has Mycroft not told you of his little plan? Oh how delightfully spiteful of him. Especially given the fact that I know about it. Dear Sherlock, you really must pay closer attention to your brother and his machinations. Especially when it involves you and your little pet."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, as realization struck home. He growled and his hackles rose, "What have you done, Catherine? Where's John?"

"Oh quick to go there I see. Do you actually care for the little wizard? How delightful. This will make this more fun! I figured he was just a necessary plaything. The Great Sherlock Holmes actually has feelings. Wait until I tell the others."

Before she could defend herself Sherlock had crossed the space between them and had shoved and pinned her against the doorframe. He was not gentle. Although initially startled, she just continued that wild grin.

"If you have harmed one hair on his head you will greatly regret it, Catherine," his voice was low, intimate and scary. Catherine shivered with a primordial reaction. She knew he meant it, but as she was in this for higher stakes than either her life or his, she struggled to shrug off his hands and looked up at him, matching the threat in his voice with a challenge in her eyes.

'The time of the Holmes clan is over, Sherlock. We have your friend and we are not going to let Mycroft continue. It will be the death of us all. If you were as smart as you pretend to be, you would ditch your brother and join us."

Sherlock scanned her face. He sneered at her, "I would not join with a bunch of mangy, flea bitten street cats if you were the last clan on Earth. Even if you hadn't taken John. Now tell me where he is and maybe I won't twist your scrawny neck."

She chuckled darkly, "You don't scare me, Sherlock, no mater how crazy you may actually be. Don't worry about the wizard. He's safe and he's comfortable. Once Mycroft gets here with that other tame wizard, I might even take you to him."

Sherlock looked even more intimidating if that was possible and was just about to start shaking her when the front door opened once again. This time the tread was heavier and they both turned to look down the stairwell.

"Catherine," Mycroft greeted. "I see you have managed once again to thoroughly annoy my brother. Although I must say I don't approve the circumstances, you have, it appears, done an excellent job. Sherlock," Mycroft paused and looked warningly at his sibling, "let go before we have another incident."

Sherlock reluctantly let go of the woman. Mycroft walked around the pair and made his way over to John's chair and sat down.

"Now, shall we all sit and try to be civilized. I realize that may be a problem for the two of you but I suggest you give it your best effort." And his mouth curved up in a pleasant smile, although it didn't quite meet his eyes.

Sherlock walked over to the window and stood looking out. Catherine perched imperiously on the couch, looking very cat like, in the 'I've eaten the canary and perhaps the goldfish as well' variety of looks. She all but licked her lips.

"Catherine, my dear, what on earth have you done with the good doctor. I, like Sherlock, will be most displeased with you if something has happened to him. I really don't think you want to bring down the full wrath of The Family with your petty machinations."

Catherine looked smug as she answered, "Oh, please Mycroft, don't pretend you care about one little wizard, except for the disruption to your plans. As I said to your brother, he is fine and I am even willing to bring you to him. I am here to give you a message from the unaffiliated clans and a warning. Your plan is dangerous and it won't work."

Mycroft just stared at her. One corner of his mouth lifted a little bit higher and this time the humour did reach his eyes, but it was still a cold and frosty humour.

"You really have no idea what my plans are. And even if you had a clue you still wouldn't understand all of the ramifications behind them. You will return to your clan leader and you will inform him to stay out of The Family's business, unless they truly wish to join with us and then perhaps they will see the wisdom of what we have in mind." He sat back and crossed his legs, looking very relaxed and at ease, whereas Catherine was beginning to look slightly ruffled.

Sherlock continued to stand at the window, appearing indifferent to the conversation, but Mycroft knew he was listening intently.

Suddenly there was a shift of muscles, a rustle of cloth. Sherlock whirled and turned towards the woman on the couch. "Why? Why come here and announce that you have John and then invite us over to see him?"

She smiled at him, "Why not? Oh and because I can!"

With that Sherlock strode over to the hook his coat was hanging on and wrapped it around himself, scarf placed around his neck, armor in place.

Catherine looked at him. "Where do you think you are going?"

"To rescue John. I have had enough of this farce." He stood there looking at the two of them. "Well are you coming or do I go on alone."

Catherine decided she did not like the feeling of having her plan abruptly pulled out of her hands.

She crossed her arms and glared at Sherlock. He looked steadily back at her. Apparently enough of his dark thoughts filled his eyes to convince her to stand abruptly and lead the way out of the flat.

Mycroft watched all of the posturing, rolled his eyes and followed the two overly emotional cats out of the door.

_Why on Earth was it so difficult for cats to control their emotions? _He thought.

oOo

John was finding the events of the day to be extremely tiring. It was a testament to his adaptability that he could relax enough in his capturer's house to find himself nodding off.

He was startled by the abrupt opening of the door.

A big, burly man crossed over to where John was sitting and because he was still a bit fuzzy from being rudely awakened he found himself grabbed and held roughly before he quite realized it.

He stood, trying to stay relaxed, wanting to see where this was going.

Through the door came three people, Sherlock, Mycroft and the young woman for whom he had purchased coffee and endured a kidnapping and subsequent headache. Catherine was her name.

Sherlock crossed over to where John was held. He stopped when the big brute growled threateningly and the detective held up his hands to show he had no weapons. He glared at the man before turning to sweep his gaze over John, to confirm for himself, he was fine.

"Alright?" he asked the shorter man softly.

John shrugged with his right shoulder. "Alright," he replied.

Sherlock span in place and turned to Catherine, "Release him."

"I think not."

"I believe so."

"Ah, no."

"No?"

"No."

John sighed, "Alright children. Would somebody mind telling me what the hell is going on?"

Mycroft smiled quietly in John's direction, "A power play."

"Clear as mud."

Mycroft just continued to smile, not clearing the murk.

Catherine turned and smiled a winning smile in John's direction.

"I'm so sorry to have to involve you in all this nonsense my dear John, but seeing as how you are a wizard and my clan doesn't approve of Mycroft's plans for you, I'm afraid you will have to remain here for the time being. At least until we can figure out how to safely neutralize you. Or maybe not so safely." Her smile turned unpleasant.

Sherlock had had enough. Not surprisingly, so had John. They looked at each other and Sherlock ghosted a small smile at John. John blinked once in understanding and quizzed an eyebrow in his direction. Sherlock nodded a careful nod and his grin became wider, more inviting.

John closed his eyes and reached. As did Sherlock. Both felt the barriers that stood between them. One was an emotional barrier. The other, physical. John felt around the edges of the physical one, looking for cracks and weaknesses. It centered on the wrist wrapped with the silver band. He felt carefully along the band until he found the crack, a fine almost invisible seam that joined the band together. He carefully worked at it, forcing the band apart. He really shouldn't have been able to do this, but his capturers had underestimated him, just as everyone else always had. Everyone but Sherlock. There was a soft click, audible only in his mind and the band fell to the floor. All of this took a fraction of a second. Before the others in the room were even aware of what was going on John threw his thoughts toward Sherlock. This time there was no hesitation. Sherlock knew it was time to let John in. All the barriers fell.

They met halfway and it became a true joining.

John was filled with power.

Power like he'd never felt before. It was heady and he felt almost drunk with it as he tried to channel all the energy that swept through him. He wondered he hadn't realized before that their binding had been incomplete, but he'd had nothing to base it on, to compare it to.

In that moment of joining he could finally understand how the wizards truly felt and how the power had gotten away from them.

He opened his eyes to glance at the others there and the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile.

It wasn't a nice smile.


	8. 8 Join the Dark Side We Have Marmite

**A/N: Lucy36 – this chapter's for you because you made me rethink it – Thank you - it is so much better than it would have been! To all the Writers at Mrs. Hudson's Kitchen – the Chapter title is for you.**

**Warnings - Some swearing (like, one word) – weird inner dialogue – gratuitous use of movie quotes.**

8. Join the Dark Side. We have Marmite.

_Yes. A Jedi strength flow from the Force, but beware of the Dark Side - Yoda to Luke Star Wars: Episode V The Empire Strikes Back_

Sherlock wasn't really sure what it was that made him decide to trust John enough to throw open the link between the two of them.

Perhaps it was simply that he'd had enough.

Perhaps it was seeing someone else bully John. That was his job.

Perhaps he realized deep down that there was no one else he trusted more.

Whatever it was, he threw out his inhibitions and mentally reached out to his flatmate. At first he met with resistance. It must have been similar for John when John had tried reaching out to him earlier. There seemed to be two barriers. One emotional. _Emotional? Ah, perhaps that's what the problem is._

The other was physical. He could sense John concentrating on the physical one. It appeared to be centered around his wrist where there was a silver bracelet. _Ah, that's how they did it. They used a band on him. _The cats, to contain a wizard's power, used bands.

There was a soft click in his mind and he could see the bracelet fall to the ground. And then…

He felt a surge of power leap from himself to his friend. He'd never experienced anything like this before. He could feel John drawing on power and it appeared to be limitless.

_That is certainly intriguing. Anthea was wrong. This is easy when I am a man. I didn't need to be a cat to connect with John and I didn't need to be touching John for this to work well. It's easier than breathing. Besides breathing is boring and this is exhilarating._

He looked over toward his friend. John was smiling.

It wasn't a nice smile.

Sherlock didn't really care as long as John wrapped this up quickly so they could get back to the flat and get something to eat.

He noted the others around the room. Catherine and the piece of walking meat looked awed and concerned.

_They are surprised. Everyone underestimates him. Knew he was powerful_, he thought smugly. _That's _my_ wizard!_

The two were starting to look scared. Catherine shouted at Mycroft,

"This is your fault. We tried to warn you, meddling with those damn wizards. Look at him! There's no one who's going to be able to control him now! So smart, Mycroft, binding him with your useless brother! What the hell were you thinking?" She moved toward Mycroft, the idea that she was ready to strike him was written all over her face.

Sherlock glanced back at John. He looked, well he looked scary and dangerous. Sherlock felt a thrill go through him. _Yes, there he is! The hidden John. That's the one I've seen before! _Sherlock wasn't scared; he was interested. He knew John would never intentionally hurt him and this was so much more exciting than the time he'd shot the cabbie!

But then he looked more carefully at John's face and concern slammed down upon all the gleeful thoughts. There was a war going on in the smaller man's body.

Sherlock began to become afraid for his friend.

John was on the cusp of a moral and emotional dilemma. At the moment there were two John's trying to take over one body. The wizard part wanted to use the powerful reserves welling up through him to crush the others in the room like bug. They were the enemy, even Sherlock. It was almost like it had been bred into him, to kill cats and this side was finally seeing the light of day. That part thought it was pay back time and the occasion to right past grievances. This John came out to play when the tough decisions had to be made. He'd been useful in the army. He wasn't usually present and though he retained most of John's good qualities, he was more ambitious and ruthless. He was enjoying the thrill of power coursing through him.

The other John was the one most people knew, kind, caring, compassionate. Moral. He was struggling for dominance over the other John. This side was appalled at the very idea of hurting people for no reason, even the two in the room who had kidnapped him. This was the one who had wanted to be a doctor, who even in war had put others first. This was the one who had fought against corruption and the temptation of magic making everything easy.

Suddenly running through his head were a bunch of phrases about corruption:

_The thinnest thing in the world is the border between good and evil__. _

_Absolute power corrupts absolutely. _

_With great power comes great responsibility. _

_What the fuck? Spiderman!? Erg!_

The Spiderman line was enough to overpower the dark side of John and send it into a tailspin of confusion. John could hear it muttering: _Spiderman? Really? When are you trotting out the Star Wars quotes? That's where all the power and corruption takes place. '__You underestimate the power of the Dark Side. If you will not fight, then you will meet your destiny.__These are not the droids you're looking for._ _Shut down all the garbage smashers on detention level!'_

_Shut up! said Good John._

He made a decision. He was going to have to break the binding. He couldn't keep this connection with Sherlock. It was too dangerous and it was going to destroy him if he let the power take over. He would no longer be Dr. John H. Watson, lover of wooly jumpers (_GOOD! They are hideous anyway!_). He would be Wizard John Watson (_Super Villain!_). To prevent that he would have to try and sever it.

_There is no try. There is only do or do not!_

_Shut up, Yoda! shouted both Johns._

He would have to take care of a little business first, however.

The war between the Johns had taken less than a minute.

Catherine was still travelling toward Mycroft. She halted abruptly, a look of confusion on her face. She wasn't able to move. The big brute who had been holding John was suddenly thrust back and flipped over the couch. Two more men barged into the room and John simply looked at them and they collapsed to the floor unconscious. He frowned at Catherine and for the first time since he'd connected to Sherlock he spoke. His voice was deeper than usual and there was a resonance to it. It must have been the power he was channeling.

"She's right. I can't be responsible for having this much power. Hold on Sherlock. I'm going to break the binding. It might sting a little," John looked ruefully at his friend, his eyes full of apology and regret. He was pretty sure this was going to do more than sting. He would try to prevent Sherlock and the others from getting hurt.

And then he closed his eyes.

As Sherlock realized what John was going to do, as he was just opening his mouth to shout to John to stop, it was too dangerous to do that, he felt the doctor reach out to him and it was almost like turning off a light switch or a faucet. The power flow stopped suddenly and Sherlock staggered back.

Then the backlash hit.

The broken connection shattered all the glass in the room. Glass shards flew everywhere. Energy seemed to be pulsing and shimmering through the room. It almost had a mind of its own and it appeared to strike out at people. Sherlock felt something hit his cheek and it stung. Catherine ducked down, suddenly released from John's hold. Mycroft also crouched down, but seemed to be the only one in the room not surprised by anything that was happening.

John bore the brunt of it. Not from the flying glass. It almost looked as if he were trying to use the remnants of the power he had, his own natural power to protect the others. The bigger pieces of glass dropped before they hit anyone and the shimmers of power were concentrating more on him. John's nose started to bleed and just when it looked like he might loose the fight with the excess energy loose in the room, everything stilled. Quiet descended.

"I think it worked," said John. Everyone turned to look at him just in time to see him go very pale and his eyes roll up. He dropped to the ground like a pole had hit him on the back of the head.

Sherlock ran over to him and checked his pulse and breathing. The visible sign of relief on the detective's face answered the question for the others in the room.

Catherine looked shocked, "But, but he couldn't…he just broke the connection? But that's impossible! How?" she spluttered for a few moments and then said "He threw away all of that power? But, why?"

Sherlock looked at her with loathing, "Not everyone is fond of power, Catherine. John made a very difficult and dangerous decision and probably prevented the start of another full out war. As much as I will miss the connection between us, he was right to do so. No one man should have the responsibility for so much power. It is too easy to give into the temptation to use it."

He stopped talking because he heard a soft moan coming from the man lying on the floor.

"John," He said, not succeeding at keeping the anxiety out of his voice. "John? Can you hear me? Are you alright?" He leaned down to better hear his flatmate.

"Say it again," came a soft, tired voice.

Sherlock looked confused. "Say what again?" he asked.

"The part where you said I was right."

Sherlock looked startled and then relaxed and then a small grin played about his mouth.

"John, you know I don't like to repeat myself."

John smiled. And slowly opened his eyes. "I feel like I was hit by a lorry." Sherlock helped him into a sitting position.

Catherine, no regard for how the doctor might be feeling, stood over him, confusion and anger on her face.

"What you did was impossible. You shouldn't have been able to do that. And look at this place. It was foolish and dangerous for you to try."

John pursed his lips at her, wearily "Why would I keep it? I have everything I need. It's too dangerous for any one person to meddle with. It's too easy to give into the temptation of using it."

"But you snapped the connection between you and Sherlock? That's impossible! You both should have died."

"Would you have been happier if we had?' he said gently. "It's only impossible because you think it is, because no one tried before. There's nothing you can't do if you put your mind to it."

A throat was cleared and a voice unheard from until now said smugly. "And that is why I picked you for this, John."

John, Sherlock and Catherine turned toward the fourth person in the room who was still conscious. A strangely gentle and pleased smile tugged at Mycroft's lips.

"You did exactly what I hoped you would. Well done!"

oOo

Sherlock had two wishes.

He got one of them.

There was take-away.

He didn't get his other wish.

Mycroft stayed to eat with them.

Even though John was exhausted, they sat around talking. John had questions, Mycroft had answers and Sherlock had the extra fortune cookie.

"So you expected me to act that way? Throw away 'King of the World'?" John asked, wearily. His head was pounding, but there were things that couldn't wait and he was too curious to go to bed just yet.

"Well you see John, if you remember, I had been keeping tabs on you before you met my brother and not just because you were a wizard, but because you seemed like the kind of man who had certain qualities I was looking for."

"What qualities?" John asked puzzled.

"Strong moral values, John. You have an innate sense of right and wrong and you know where to draw the line. You'd sacrifice yourself for innocent lives, you'd work tirelessly to do what was right and more importantly, you know what it's like to not use your powers, to not rely on them. I had high hopes for you and I am pleased to see that once again I was correct." Mycroft's smile looked more Cheshire like than Sherlock's ever had.

"But I still don't understand. Is there something you expect me to do?"

Sherlock looked up from where he was trying unsuccessfully to use the fortunes to line up and spell 'Mycroft get out'.

"Really John, even someone who is as uninspired a thinker as you are should be able to see what Mycroft has in mind."

"Thanks mate. You really know how to level a person," John just smiled resignedly.

Sherlock sighed, "He wants you to liaise with the wizards, make overtures." John still looked nonplussed. "Be an ambassador to the wizards and make proposals of peace. He believes you can show the wizards the errors of their ways and help them to tame down their powers, use them for good," he said it like it as the most boring thing in the world. "I personally think it would be a waste of your talents and probably lead to nothing more than you getting killed or worse."

John's tired grin widened slightly, and although he wondered what Sherlock could think was worse than being killed, he saved that question for another time. He did ask, "Waste of what talents? My powers as a wizard? I don't plan on using them much. Actually," he frowned, "I don't know if they are still there."

"Oh I think you will find they haven't gone anywhere. You just overtaxed yourself today with that rather impressive display," said Mycroft, knowingly.

Sherlock sniffed, focusing the conversation back on himself, where he felt it belonged. "No John, your talents are to keep me supplied with tea." He smiled with some fondness. "I'd be lost without my blogger."

Mycroft looked pained at Sherlock's apparent attempt at humour, "Yes, well. I would like to discuss this with you at some point. I don't expect you to give up the obvious pleasure of my brother's company, but I do think you can see the value a person like you would have to help end this war between wizards and cats."

Sherlock was beginning to feel twinges of panic. John wouldn't really leave to go off with Mycroft, would he?

Mycroft glanced at his brother. "Sherlock, I am not planning on keeping John. Just borrowing him now and then. It will take some time to set up all of this anyway. There are a few wizards who are also interested in peace. I believe we shall contact them first."

John was thinking furiously. "So what about your lot taking children away from their families? I still don't think much about that you know. And I have a feeling that's going to be a sore point."

Mycroft looked at John, "You have to understand we felt we were doing what was best, we felt we were saving them from the influence of people who were power mad enough they would do anything, even to their children, to gain control. They do terrible things to their own children to corrupt them in this war."

John didn't look terribly impressed, "I think that's just a justification. You know, it may also be a contributing factor in the length of time this thing has gone on. I think that that is just as awful as what you accuse the wizards of doing."

Mycroft frowned, "I can see how you may think that John, but believe me the end justifies the means."

"Does it?" John looked dangerous again and Sherlock's interest perked up. He had been getting bored with the direction the conversation had been heading. His ears all but twitched. Maybe John was going to do something spectacular to Mycroft. It would have to be physically, not as interesting as magic, but Mycroft with a black eye was better than nothing.

"You know Mycroft it's a fine line between wanting to use powers for good and ending up using them because you can. It's a fine line making decisions for a race of people because you think it's for the greater good. You'd start justifying it and then you'd tip over the edge toward darkness. You become no better than the people you are trying to stop."

Mycroft looked not ashamed exactly but chastised. "I will take it under advisement. "

"Do so," Captain John Watson said.

Shortly after a subdued Mycroft left the flat and John puttered around cleaning up the take-away boxes. Sherlock lounged on the couch.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, John."

"It was a close thing, you know."

"What was?" Although Sherlock knew what he was going to say, he let him say it anyway. John often felt the need for confession when he thought he had done something wrong.

"I almost gave in. Almost let the wizard inside take over." He paused and looked down at the floor. He wasn't ashamed exactly, but he felt the need to explain, to let Sherlock know how close he had come, to warn him, he supposed.

Sherlock looked at his friend, thought for a moment and said, "There are three things I can rely on in this world, criminals will always think they can get away with whatever crime they are perpetrating, Mycroft will cheat on his diet and you, you John Hamish Watson, Doctor and Captain and friend of The World's Only Consulting Detective will continue to be a good person." He smiled at John and John nodded slowly, relief evident in his face.

Since it was confession time, Sherlock brought up the question that had been plaguing him.

"John?"

"Yes Sherlock?"

There was a quiet pause.

"Would you go? Away with Mycroft I mean? Would you go and be Wizard Ambassador?"

John looked at Sherlock. "If I did, I wouldn't do it for long or permanently. Besides I expect you'd want to come with."

"Why on earth would I want to sit in on boring meetings between cats and wizards?" there was a sad whine to his voice.

"Think about it Sherlock. Think about how it could all blow up. There'd be enough excitement to last for days. I don't think you'd be bored long!" John grinned at Sherlock. The detective smiled softly.

"You won't leave me?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I'd be lost without my cat."

Sherlock smiled in the direction of the doctor. He all but purred as he thought about what John had said.

Maybe it would be fun after all.

**A/N: Well that is the end of part 2. I am going to leave this for a while. I have other stories I am working on. I will probably come back to this at some point, but not for a bit.**

**Thank you to all the kind reviewers, new followers and those who favourited.**

**Thanks to gal1075, Astraea802,hithwentinuviel, paikaia, ShiftkeyK, Irka, Professor CatEars, Reading-in–the-Corner, Sherlock Watson Holmes, Ebony eyed wolf.**

**And to the usual crew of misfits and supporters of dreams! Thanks you guys!**


End file.
